In the dismal greying day Arthur, King of Britain, was motionless as he looked out on the land moving about him.

The wind was in flight. It moved softly, sighing like a forlorn bride. It came crawling like a baby from the east and trickled down past the leafy and thick King's forest making the tree's stir slightly like a man moved in sleep by some night time noise. It danced among the wheat and barley of the fields as if it was hearing some ball tune and the sky was its conductor. It finally rose up and hit the tower of Camelot where Arthur stood. Brushing over his blond locks until it dissipated like the blue tide of the ocean washing among the rocks.

For all its gesticulation the valley was clear for leagues granting Arthur with a grand view. For all the view was Arthur was not relishing it like he did most days. His body was numb -so numb he took little heed to the stone ledge that was chipped and now cutting into his palm. A little stream of maroon caressed its way down the stone and feel onto his shoe with a drop.

The cause of his impassiveness was not the hardships of the depleting treasury, the bandits that were making the forest their home as they plundered and raped. Not the Arcane wonderments that were threating to spill over like a bucket too full. No the cause of his predicament lay with the man with auburn hair and high cheek bones.

Even when he opened his eyes he still saw the soft flesh of skin eating by reddening welts and the lacerations that wept on his back. He could still feel under his hands the thin- paper thin- arms that were smudged with purple and blue. Yet, for all that sorrow, Arthur could easily turn his mind away from it for a minute or two until his stomach chose to clench and remind him once more. It was the eyes, the hauntingly blue angry eyes in which held him captive in all hours of day and night.

"What do you know about anything? You pride yourself of being one with your people! You didn't even know about this. Of course don't you always say pain makes a man stronger and you should weep for no man …"

Arthur head spun and he clenched his fist. Noticing his hand was bleeding, he watched the blood drop and slide form his hand he now hung at his side uselessly. Arthur had called Merlin useless. Maybe that had been his first mistake.

Arthur kicked the wall with his bloody shoe and face twisting in disgust and anger. It was not his fault! He told himself again like he told himself before. It is not my fault. I cannot watch over everything in a vast kingdom. I am one man. HE is the fault in this for not coming to me. It was his fault for not trusting in me. His king!

But who must have gave him the reason not to trust the wind seem to whisper. Arthur sunk down and sat with little dignity. The memories took him like a wave; over lapping him with a strong surge of emotions. Like a wave it came crashing down in a form of one shiny tear. One tear then turned to two and so on.

"How was I supposed to know?" He cried out, "How was I supposed to know, Merlin?"

An hour later he was still sitting in the same spot. His tears as long ago dried up. He let the sounds of the dying day take ahold of him. Letting the birds and the cascades lull him. He wanted to close his eyes. Forget everything and sleep and sleep until he was withering or the situation corroded around him. Whatever was to come first?

It was then like thunder booming off the high ridge rocks that a voice screamed in his mind and soul.

HELP ME…

It tainted into his blood and fuelled him with hot fire. The voice sounded broken, heart wrenching, and fading like morning mist. The voice, Arthur had any little doubt, was Merlin's.

Without questions, the King found himself propelling down the stairs of the tower and crashing through the wooden door at the bottom of the step steeps. Like a man possessed he dredged on. His mind cut like fire again as he sagged against the wall. The cool perspiration cooling his back. Holding his now aching head in one hand, he pushed himself up off the wall and used his other hand to guide him.

He took the servant's hall through the castle having no wish to be stopped by any one of his court. He had to press on without pause or he felt he would burst. He only stopped when he ran out of light. He was in the old dungeons.

The dungeons used to be used in his father's day when torture was a prime player. It haunted his dreams the way the shadows reflected and seem to take a life of their own. He carefully moved his left foot forward then his right, testing the way. He heard a sharp squeak and something run over his foot and he stopped.

It when then he noticed the light. Someone had lit a torch in one of the many cells lined against the wall. It was then too he heard the screams. They were hellish screams. Screams that asked for the life to be taken to spear from the pain. Screams like the likes that used to live among the dungeons Arthur was now in.

The screams forced Arthur along until he was outside the cell, sword drawn. A rack stood in the center of the room. A man was laid on his back; his arms and legs stretched out and tied down. A creak as the turner moved and the ropes grew sterner as they stretched. The man screamed as the man who stood above him smiled and slowly dragged a sliver cutting knife down the man's navel.

"Merlin!" Arthur yelled looking in horror at the gruesome screams.

Arthur was then knocked out as a form jumped him from behind and he went down only for his head to bang against the stone floor sending him conscience back to the very thing he was trying to avoid…

Thank you for reading. Please review.